


Soul Slip

by fogsrollingin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Android Sam Winchester, Caring John Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Cuddling, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent John Winchester, Hunter John Winchester, Hunters & Hunting, John Winchester Tries, Kid Fic, Motels, Nostalgia, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Road Trips, Robot Feels, Robots, Supernatural Elements, but also nostalgia of the 80s, future tech in the 80s, wholesome fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin
Summary: The day Dean is gifted a companion android on May 2nd, 1989.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [fogsrollingin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogsrollingin/pseuds/fogsrollingin) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

> Thank you so much to the [Iddy Bang](https://iddyiddybangbang.dreamwidth.org/) mods for hosting this challenge. It totally forced me into finally sitting down and writing this.
> 
> Also all my love to kellifer_fic's story [Do Winchesters Dream of Electric Impalas?](https://kellifer-fic.livejournal.com/234689.html#cutid1) for the huge inspiration it was for this story.
> 
> Happy readings!
> 
> * * *
> 
> This fanwork has been posted to AO3.org, a website that databases fanworks for free & without ads. If you are told this fic is behind a paywall, that's super false and most definitely a scam. AO3 is a fanworks database run by the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), a U.S. federal nonprofit. Please consider [donating](https://otw.cividesk.com/civicrm/index.php?q=civicrm/contribute/transact&reset=1&id=17) so they can keep the lights on in here 😊

_“We teach [humans] not to notice the different senses of the possessive pronoun - the finely graded differences that run from "my boots" through "my dog", "my servant", "my wife", "my father", "my master" and "my country", to "my God". They can be taught to reduce all these senses to that of "my boots", the "my" of ownership. Even in the nursery a child can be taught to mean by "my Teddy-bear" not the old imagined recipient of affection to whom it stands in a special relation (for that is what the Enemy will teach them to mean if we are not careful) but "the bear I can pull to pieces if I like"._  
\- C.S. Lewis, “The Screwtape Letters”

Sunday, May 2, 1989  
Dubuque, Iowa

It was a crisp spring morning. Dean woke up around nine, hazy and still tired but he turned the TV on to wake up further just like Dad. He dozed until the weather channel reported there would be thunderstorms today starting in the afternoon. Dean moaned as he rolled out of bed. Eventually he reached something of a standing position and he trudged to the bathroom to go through his morning routine, sullenly thinking about what errands he’d have to run this morning before the storms hit. He wished their lives didn’t depend on the weather so much but that’s just how it went when you lived in motel rooms.

He had a book report due tomorrow so he’d have to walk five blocks to the local library, register for a library card, then borrow Huckleberry Finn. He’d already read it so he’d do well. He just needed the book to find quotes.

  
On his way home, Dean would have to stop by the grocery store. Instant coffee and aspirin for Dad, bread because Dean had found spots of green on the last slices they had, peanut butter, and then those Flintstones multivitamins that made Dad feel good when Dean took them.

All the other chores could be done in the motel. He could wash their clothes in the tub and - oh, that reminded him. He’d need to stop by the dry-cleaners and pick up Dad’s suit later. The suit was too long and difficult to walk with, but it was only half a block away so he could manage it. Then he’d _finally_ be free to park himself in front of the TV while he cleaned the guns and sewed that rip in Dad’s cargo pants.

Dean dressed in jeans that looked cool because there was a rip in the knees and his favorite Metallica tee that got him humming ‘Enter Sandman.' He was endeavoring to climb onto a chair to reach the candles in the cupboards should the electricity go out when the phone rang. Dean paused. The phone rang once more, then silence. Recognizing their code, Dean jumped off the chair and hovered in wait for the second call to come through. He answered on the first ring.

“Dad!”

“Hey Dean,” his father’s fond, gruff voice filtered through the line. “The hunt’s all done.”

“That’s great!” Dean held the phone with both hands excitedly. “Could you pick me up and we could go grocery shopping?!”

“Mm no, kiddo, sorry. I’ve got a quick job lined up that’ll pay today.”

Dean sighed. “Oh, well that’s good.”

“It is, it is. We don’t _need_ groceries, do we? You’re good, right?”

Dean cinched his mouth to the side, uncertain whether to burden his father further. “No, yeah! All good here. It can wait.”

“Great, okay. Promise you I’ll get done with this job by tonight and tomorrow we can go grocery shopping. Maybe get some pie.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome.”

“Yeah, awesome,” he agreed but he sounded sad. “Oh, I almost forgot. Pastor Jim might swing by the motel. He’s passing through.”

Dean brightened at the news. “Really? When?!”

“I don’t know, kiddo. I talked to him maybe two days ago. Gave him our motel and room number. He might’ve been in a hurry though and blew past us already. Don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean lied.

“Okay. You be good, Dean. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.” Dean hung up and sighed. He’d forgotten about the candles in the cupboard. Instead he wrapped a plaid shirt around his waist, grabbed his ratty backpack, and headed out.

The crisp morning gave way to cloudy skies and the ubiquitous dampness of pre-rain weather. Dean hurried as fast as a ten-year-old’s feet could take him to the library then the grocery store and finally the dry-cleaners. He was afraid of taking so long he’d get stuck in the rain but even worse, he was scared he’d miss Pastor Jim. He knew it was a long shot he was going to come at all, just as Dad had cautioned, but Dean felt it in his bones that now he knew about it, it would surely happen.

He got back to the motel just in the nick of time against the first crack of thunder. It was half past noon. Dean pulled the curtains wide so he could watch the skies break open over the parking lot riddled with potholes. Soon they'd be filled with rainwater.

A dog barked and whimpered in the room next door. It was Maggie, the sweetest dachshund with soulful eyes. She had white fur around her face denoting her age and belonged to the heavily-tattooed biker named Leslie that had checked in a couple days ago. Leslie was an army veteran on a cross country road trip that would end with Washington D.C. where he would march in the Memorial Day Parade. He let Dean pet Maggie whenever he wanted.

Dean could hear Leslie reassuring Maggie over the storm, shushing her whines. Dean smiled and idly wished he had a dog to comfort and love like that as he put the food away and hung Dad’s suit up.

Movement on the gloomy road past the parking lot had Dean squinting, then darting over and opening the door in excitement when he saw Pastor Jim’s Nova pulling into the lot.

He parked right in front in accordance with Dean’s enthusiastic waving. He unfolded his long body out of the diminutive car and maneuvered something like a barely-filled black piece of luggage over his shoulder. With consideration and foresight beyond his age, Dean thought to go turn the thermostat up for him. He returned to see the pastor just reaching shelter under the small overhang along the motel rooms.

“Pastor Jim!” Dean cried through the downpour, grinning ear to ear.

“Hey Dean!” Jim returned, shifting his weight under what Dean recognized now as a garment bag. Dean thought there must be several suits in there because it was pretty bulky. He dismissed it though as the two of them took precautions, saying ‘Christo’ to one another, handling salt, and pressing silver to skin.

After, Dean ushered Jim inside. The man set the garment bag down on the bed and turned to give Dean a big hug. Dean giggled and pressed into it. Pastor Jim gave the best hugs.

"It's so good to see you, kiddo."

“You too,” Dean answered, sincere. Jim let him go and Dean’s eyes drifted to the bulky garment bag on the bed. "What's that?"

Jim smiled, pale blue eyes alight with anticipation.

“It's a gift. For you."

"No! Really? But… it’s so big!” Dean had never gotten a gift so large before.

"I saw it and I immediately thought of you, Dean. It's an android. Brand new. It was a donation to the church."

“_What_? OH MY GOD!” Dean jumped up and down, pressing his hands to his mouth, eyes wide and shocked, barely able to restrain himself and Jim couldn’t help but warm and laugh at the sight of it. He was more certain than ever Dean deserved this.

“But wait, you thought of me? What about… There's probably someone else who needs it more," Dean suggested reasonably, calming down and going back to his usual air of lonely seriousness.

"That is what is called a selfless, generous thought, Dean. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to hear things like that.” Pastor Jim bent so he could put an arm on Dean’s shoulder and look him straight in the eye. “But trust me. You more than anyone I know deserves this experience. I can’t think of a better family. Dean, I’m certain you and your father will discover something special in introducing an artificial intelligence to the world.”

Dean swallowed nervously, not sure what to do with that. So instead Dean looked at the bag and reflected over what he _did_ know. Androids were mainly for rich people. And androids were so mistreated they were widely known to only last about three years of ‘casual use.’

Dean knew this because Dean made friends easily and sometimes they’d be rich. The first time he saw androids, he was eight and he’d accepted an invitation to play at Matthew Devon’s house. Androids, Dean learned, liked to lurk along the walls or in the shadows of the house so they wouldn’t be noticed. Dean found it spooky at first until he saw how Matthew treated one. It was shaped like an older woman wearing a conservative dress and apron. They’d been in the middle of playing when Matthew had suddenly turned and spat out orders to go make them both smoothies. The lady-robot had given a start and then ran out of the room. She had completed the task in record-breaking time and resumed her station by the wall.

Dean had stared at her as he guiltily sipped at his smoothie.

Over the course of visiting a few more android-filled homes, Dean discovered the mistreatment of androids was often much worse than that first introduction. Parents were the primary, most frequent offenders, much to Dean’s dismay. They would yell, hit, or shove androids over innocent accidents, honest mistakes, and understandable errors in comprehension. Every once in awhile Dean would come across a friend whose sadistic streak wouldn’t surface until he’d seen them interact with their house android. He’d had nightmares over a boy named Patrick last year.

But nobody cared because they were nothing but glorified microwaves. Everybody said so.

Pastor Jim was different. He talked about androids like masterpieces to be preserved and artificial intelligences like they were to be respected. John and Uncle Bobby never really disagreed but it wasn’t a thing for them as much as it was for Pastor Jim and Dean. When Dean asked Jim why once, he’d said the two men never went into new, rich houses that had androids. They frequented the more centuries-old, ghost-infested houses. As a result, they didn’t have much occasion to learn how bad it could be, how disturbing it felt. In contrast, Jim attended the religious matters for people of all classes and for Dean, he was still at an age where making friends wasn’t terribly tainted by wealth. Unlike John and Bobby, they’d seen the myriad of ways people had found to abuse androids firsthand and together they agreed it felt wrong.

And suddenly, just like that, Dean didn’t want it. "Did Dad say it was okay?" He asked, hoping he could pin it on his father that he couldn’t take it.

"Mmhm, I cleared it with your father," Jim replied, glowing.

"Really?” Dean looked up, surprised. “Dad didn’t mention it.”

The pastor shrugged, then took in Dean’s countenance. “What’s wrong?”

Dean worried at his lip, eyes getting a little watery. He went to put his plaid button-up on. “I just… I don’t know if I should have it. What about a kid at a hospital? Don’t they need androids?”

Jim’s concerned expression never left as he answered. “Those are specialized androids, Dean. This one is meant to be a child’s companion.”

“I’m not…” Dean huffed. Jim smiled kindly. “Fine, I’m a child. But… I…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it.

"Have you had lunch?" Jim asked, suddenly perky. “Let’s just… forget this for a moment,” Jim gestured to the bag on the bed, “and just go out to lunch. Catch up. Come on, I’m buying,” and took Dean’s hand and Dean had no choice but to be happily swept along into this generous man’s plans.

After the best bacon cheeseburger Dean had eaten in awhile, he picked at his fries and Jim said his name in a way that made him pay respectful attention.

“I sense you might be nervous about the android-?”

Dean pressed his lips together and looked down.

“Can I ask why?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” Jim ordered softly.

Dean steeled himself. “I… I don’t wanna turn into them. What if it’s the _having_ an android that makes you like that?”

Pastor Jim’s eyes lit up with compassion. “I completely understand what you’re saying Dean. That’s… a very intelligent, very wise fear.”

Dean smiled and blushed. He sat up straighter. “Really?”

“Oh yes. Reminds me of an old quote. ‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’”

Dean nodded absently, thinking about how the quote applied. “Yeah, like… the power of having an android, of being able to do anything to it-?”

“Exactly right,” Jim smiled. “You’re sharp, Dean. Don’t let anyone tell you any different. But most of all, why I want you to have this android, is the wisdom and heart to worry like you do. You won’t become like them because you’ve already seen them and denounced their behavior as repellent, am I right?”

“Yes,” Dean replied firmly. He didn't know the meanings of a couple of those words but he got the gist well enough to know his answer. Pastor Jim nodded. He looked out the window of their restaurant. The rain had lightened but there were no clear skies in sight. “Let me ask you this, Dean. To prove you’re not like them, and that having this android won’t change you.”

“Okay.” Dean leaned over the table, engaged, ready for the proof that’d help him believe.

“What will you do with him once he’s activated?”

“I… don’t know. I wanna learn about it.”

“Why?”

“So I… know… what to expect? And how to take care of it. Like Dad with the Impala!”

“The way your father loves his car is the other reason I thought the android would find a lovely home with you two.”

Dean laughed and Jim followed suit, albeit somewhat rueful. Dean heaved a big sigh and nodded.

“Okay.”

\---

Dad wasn’t home when they got back. Pastor Jim suggested they activate the android now. They were both crestfallen as Jim read the manual that’d been tucked in the outside pocket of the bag.

"It looks like only one adult is allowed to register and activate it... and that’ll need to be your father. Oh, I’m so sorry, Dean. You’ll have to wait."

Dean wilted but he knew how to handle delays like these. He waited on his father all the time. "It’s okay, Jim. I can wait. You wanna hang out more?" He asked, hopeful.

The man bit his lip now, clearly upset. “I have to go.”

“That's okay too! I’ll be fine. Dad’ll be home tonight, he said, and I’ve still got some chores to do and a book report to finish.”

Pastor Jim swept him up into another bear hug. “You take care. And you take care of your little robot. That thing is depending on you just like the Impala depends on your father.”

Dean giggled, warming to the comparison and even found himself daydreaming about it for the rest of the afternoon after Pastor Jim left. The busywork of doing ‘hillbilly laundry’ as him and his dad called it, was soothing. He filled the tub, added detergent, and threw in their dirty clothes. He tossed the jeans he’d been wearing into the tub too. He stomped and splashed around in his boxers and bare feet, using the metal handrails so he wouldn’t slip in the soapy water. After that came draining the dirty water and refilling the tub with clean for the ‘rinse cycle.’ Finished, he hung all the clothes up along the metal shower curtain bar.

After that, Dean pulled out the weapons duffel, Huckleberry Finn, and Dad’s ripped cargo pants. He decided the pants could wait and thanked his lucky stars the weapons duffel only held a few knives and a single pistol. He could clean those quickly and get started on his book report, perhaps even finishing by the time Dad got back when they could activate the android.

The weapons cleaning went by quick enough but after three pages writing about Huckleberry Finn, Dean’s hand was cramping and he kept getting this nasty pit in his stomach reading about Jim the slave when he had a human-looking android pre-programmed to obey its owners in a bag on their bed, haunting his peripheral vision.

Dean swallowed and stood up, needing a break and unable to ignore the robot any longer. It was dusk, the rain was calm and steady.

Dean held his breath and gingerly cupped his hands under it, testing the weight of it.

He let go quickly, surprised. The robot was _light_. Lighter than he thought any robot could be. And small too. Aware of its weight and dimensions now, he picked the bag up and brought it to the little two-person couch, laid it out lengthwise, and sat on the coffee table. He blew out a breath of air and leaned forward to unzip the bag down the center.

It was a young boy whose eyes were open and a body so still that Dean gasped and backed away, knocking against the coffee table.

He stared at it, his heart racing, but pulled himself together. A couple years ago he'd accidentally seen the photographs inside a police file his father had brought home. Nothing came of it because Dean knew how to feign ignorance but Dean had seen his first grisly crime scene photos in that file. One of the victims had been a boy.

The robot looked like a dead child but it wasn’t, Dean assured himself. It was just an android. It wasn't hurt. It wasn't a victim like the one in the file.

“S-stupid,” he whispered shakily and stepped forward again, inching his hand out to pull the bag further away to get a better look. He quickly smoothed a hand over its eyes so it just looked like it was sleeping.

The android resembled a five- or six-year-old human boy. Usually companion robots were around the age of their owner's kids but since this was a donation, it would’ve been a ridiculous coincidence if their ages had matched. Dean shrugged and figured beggars couldn’t be choosers. He thought perhaps he might prefer looking like the older one anyway.

He climbed onto the sofa next to the robot and took note of the rest of its features: brown hair, fair skin, thin pink lips, high cheekbones and almond-shaped, tip-tilted eyes. It had a strange kaleidoscope of colors for irises. Dean wondered, not without typical ten-year-old excitement, whether that meant it had heat-vision or night-vision or something really cool like that.

But otherwise, it was just a cute little kid-looking android.

The boy-robot was naked in the bag so Dean didn't unzip it any further than its chest. He touched the skin around the clavicle and it was cold but it felt like real skin, its bones felt like Dean's bones...

Dean sat back on his haunches and worried at his lip, at a crossroads. He could either zip it up and wait for Dad while he finished his book report or...

Dean couldn't avoid his reddening face as he dressed the robot. The tiny android was practically swimming in oversized underwear, sweats, and a tee, but it was done and Dean was happy. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Dean didn’t care if it was a machine. It was cold and little and cute and Dean wanted some soft and warm clothes on it. He finished by bringing his homework over to do beside the inactive robot and then wrapping them both in the quilt Mom had made that Dean took everywhere.

Dean sat down to read excerpts of Huckleberry Finn again, this time with the sweet, young boy-robot looking comfortably asleep beside him, and was finally able to relax and focus.

—-

John came dripping into the motel room sporting a bruised eye but five hundred bucks richer and a new watch telling him it was seven o’clock as he locked the door behind him.

"Dad!"

"Hey kiddo,” John grinned, turning, “so what're we thinking for dinn-" John stopped dead, having backtracked over the room to stare at what looked like a small sleeping child bundled up in Mary’s quilt on the sofa.

"Dean, what the-"

“Pastor Jim came by. It's a robot! Oh, what happened!?" Dean asked with alarm, seeing his father's injuries now. John ignored his son's concern and came closer, scrutinizing the thing - it didn't move, it wasn't breathing.

"Oh my god, kid," he blew out, turning into the kitchenette. Dean laughed caustically and padded after his father. John leaned against the counter and pulled an ice pack out of the freezer. He wrapped it in a towel before applying.

"You okay?” Dean asked again.

"I am actually right as rain. Did the job and doubled what I got paid at the bar."

"Got a black eye for it."

John grunted happily, waved Dean off. "This is nothing."

"Oh I got aspirin today, hold on," Dean said before he went to fetch it.

"You're my favorite kid, you know that?" John took the new bottle from Dean when he returned. Familiar with the phrase, Dean smiled and rolled his eyes. He glanced at the sofa, the robot behind him. “So uh, can we…” Dean gestured back behind him. John nodded and smiled knowingly.

“Yeah yeah, we'll get to it. Let me get a shower, you order takeout - whatever you want - and we can take a look at it together, okay?” Dean nodded excitedly. “You found its tablet, the registration thing, right?”

Dean nodded. "On the bed over there." It looked like a cell phone. Jim had explained what it was to him though. There was another device too. Circular, white and baby blue colors with two white cords taped up with it. Clearly taken out of whatever box would’ve held them in place, but still a brand new charger

“Great. Just give me a few." He pulled his shirt off and walked into the bathroom. "And don't forget to order food!" And then, “Oh Dean, thanks for doing laundry!”

Dean chuckled and went for the menus on the kitchenette counter. He decided on and ordered two meat lover's specials with a side of chicken wings when Dad got back out.

"They said twenty minutes." Dean pointed to the phone.

"Excellent." He started dressing. Dean fiddled with the tablet. It remained black and blank no matter how many buttons he pushed or which finger he tried on the fingerprint scan. John suspected it had a minimum fingerprint size since children weren’t supposed to be able to activate androids and designate their kid as the robot’s “companion.” Inwardly, he balked at that term. “Companion” was too complimentary. In his experience, these androids behaved like nothing but rote servants, meaning they couldn't possibly mimic a real human friend or companion in any way.

It was going to be rough when Dean realized that. The kid’s hopes were going to plummet as he observed and accepted this thing’s limitations. Because John knew it wasn’t going to laugh at his jokes or appreciate it when Dean wrapped him in his late mother’s quilt. It wasn’t going to _want_ or prefer, it wasn’t going to hurt or love or _be_. That lack of personhood was going to diminish whatever sentimentality they had for this machine. But that wasn’t to say it wouldn’t be incredibly useful or valuable to them for travel, hunting, even for Dean’s schooling. In _that_ capacity, John was willing to embrace the A.I.

And in that way, John and Pastor Jim found agreement over the bottom line: the popular mistreatment of androids was absurd. For how expensive and useful they were, it was outrageous that it had become socially acceptable cause extensive damages upon robots at the whims of their owners. It was one of the strangest paradoxes of behavior John had ever seen. Even before Mary’s death he’d been baffled how people could wreck anything that served them so well and in so many ways. Specifically cars at the time, but now that he was living in the friggin’ future and thinking about an android wrapped up in Mary’s quilt right now, androids too.

Damp but warm from the shower, John stepped into his sweats and came around to take a look at the robot. He reached his hand out and Dean immediately placed the tablet into his palm. “All right let’s see here,” he mumbled, angling it properly and pressing his thumb against the pad. The screen lit up and began going through the setup process.

John rearranged the robot so it was sitting up, leaning against the side of the couch. He sat beside it and Dean joined him, leaning heavily against John’s knee to watch. John let his son track the proceedings as he selected the language, date, time, and registered the android under his name and e-mail with SysCore. He pressed “Yes, this is my first android,” and went through the tutorial where they both learned Sam’s charging port was behind either ear or in the arcs of either foot. Dean held his breath when they got to the screen where it asked if John wanted to identify a primary child companion. He heard an excited whispered “yes!” when John pressed the button “yes” and John couldn’t help but chuckle.

It went through vocal recognition exercises with both of them. John couldn’t stifle his amusement over the device’s patient insistence at Dean to slow down and re-do almost every sentence.

The storm felt like it was on top of their little motel when the screen made a whole animated production about meeting your android for the first time. Thunder cracked, drain water from the roof gutter splashed onto the parking lot blacktop just outside, Maggie howled next door, and John and Dean shuffled over to watch what would happen to the tiny robot currently wedged comfy and wrapped up on the couch when they turned it on.

John lowered the tablet to Dean’s height and Dean grinned up at his father before he pressed the big blue “activate” button on it.

—-

The day AndroidAI Version 5.2 Serial Number: KAZ2Y5CNK80Q3’s central system was activated, the first thing it saw when it opened its set of orbital windows were another set of wide green ones staring back. Eyes.

KAZ2Y5CNK80Q3 had sensed an object coming closer - several other systems booted up first before facial movement and visual processors - and ruled it wasn’t a threat, so it made no movement of its own to avoid it.

“Uh, Kaz?” It immediately identified the deep voice of John Winchester speaking the initial call sign with which it was programmed to respond.

“Yes, John Winchester.” It sat up and registered the position it was in on a couch, its clothes, a blanket circled around its body. It immediately began analysis to determine how best to extricate itself. It didn’t notice the gleeful surprise of both father and son when it’d properly identified John’s voice.

“Kaz, I’m Dean,” the green-eyed human exclaimed. KAZ2Y5CNK80Q3 looked at Dean and smiled with a nod.

“Dean Winchester, registered as my companion.” Dean Winchester grinned.

“Right,” he confirmed.

KAZ2Y5CNK80Q3 nodded again once, eyes alight with expectation. As per its standard programming, the robot endeavored to get up. Dean Winchester jumped away, his expression quickly and easily identified as surprise. Both the father and the son watched KAZ2Y5CNK80Q3 in awe as it freed itself from a quilt and cautiously - as per its initial safety program that eased android acclimation to the real world and its dimensions - made its way to the closest wall. There, KAZ2Y5CNK80Q3 froze and its orbital windows glazed over as it fell into inactive status.

—-

It took Dean a second to realize what the robot, Kaz - a name they’d definitely have to change later - had gone totally still against a wall. It was extra jarring because it still held an expression of upbeat expectation, like it was about to say something.

"What happened?”

John stuttered a laugh. “Well that was kinda freaky," he chuckled, shaking his head. He set the tablet down and went for his wallet, keys, and the menu on the nightstand so he had the restaurant’s details.

“Dad, what? Why's he frozen like that?"

"I think it's what they do," John guessed, shrugging his leather jacket on. Dean pressed his lips together and moved closer to the android. “You play around with it, I’ll go get food. You can show me what you discovered about it when I get back. Sound good?”

Dean, still fascinated, nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, distant.

John smiled and gave a thumbs up before he ducked out into the storm. He ran to the main office to get directions, then back to _his_ beloved machine, the Impala. He patted her dashboard.

“If that robot in there’s half as useful as you, Baby, it’ll be worth it,” he muttered. The Impala purred to life under him and he pulled out into the slick streets, careful of his baby and looking forward to food.

\---

Dean stepped closer to study the android where it stood by the wall. Kaz’s lips were tipped at the edges just slightly - it made him look pleasant: good-natured and content. Dean would've thought it was nice were it not for the robot’s dull eyes. They'd been open and unresponsive before when Dean had opened him in his bag earlier and he disliked it even more now that he’d been activated. Activation should’ve meant the robot’s eyes would always be lit. If his robot’s eyes weren't lit, they should be closed, not open and unfocused like the dead.

“Kaz-?” Dean ventured quietly. The eyes lit up again and Dean rushed to come up with something to ask for it to stay ‘awake.’ “Do, uh, do you like standing there?”

“I’m a robot, Dean. I like standing anywhere.” Kaz had a pleasantly high, childish voice.

“Kaz, come back to the couch.” Dean took its hand. Kaz took a moment to return the hand hold but he let Dean lead him back. “Sit, Kaz,” Dean asked quietly and Kaz sat, oblivious to his seat atop Mary’s quilt. His posture was like a cardboard cut-out. Dean didn’t like it. Kaz did the freezing thing again and Dean just slumped against the couch, disappointed, and stared at the robot.

Tendrils of fear and worry stole threw him, and it was with a frown and furrowed brows that Dean started a small set of experiments.

“Kaz, clap your hands,” Dean ordered. “Softly,” he added as he saw the android raise his hands comically wide apart in preparation. The android brought them closer together and began to clap. “Kaz, tap your head.” Kaz tapped his head in between quiet claps. “Kaz, get up and stand on one foot.”

The robot kept clapping and head-tapping as he got up and stood on one foot between the couch and coffee table.

“That’s enough Kaz, please stop,” Dean said quickly, disturbed. Kaz froze in the absurd position, making his precarious stance even more noticeable. Dean could see the complicated balancing and counterbalancing act the android was performing as a brand new and tiny robot.

“Kaz, come sit down,” Dean called urgently and thumped the sofa next to him. Kaz collapsed onto the seat and froze with perfect posture again.

Dean felt sick.

Maybe they should return it. He’d already begun liking the tiny android with the sweet voice and floppy chocolate hair but he didn’t like how androids were treated and after this little experiment he realized he didn’t like how androids had been programmed to _expect_ to be treated. He hadn’t known androids’ default settings were to back up to a wall or corner when they were done serving their purpose. And Dean didn’t like how it couldn’t intuit casual orders like how ‘stop’ meant ‘relax and stand like normal.’

Dean rubbed his face, overwhelmed. This was a lot of deep thought for a boy of ten, no matter how mature he was. That said, an idea came to him: an acceptable order to issue.

“Hey Kaz,” he called and the android perked up straight and alert, turning to Dean, “I order you to relax where you are.”

To Dean’s amazement, the sound of mechanical whirring sped up and then slowed down, going softer in volume as the android’s face, shoulders, and overall posture lost its tension.

“Whoa. Kaz, did that feel good?”

“I’m a robot, Dean. I feel good all the time.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

Just then, John knocked the proper code to their room before opening it and bustling in laden with a couple substantial boxes of pizza and a smaller box of wings on top.

“Dinner is served,” John said haltingly as he moved around, making space for all the takeout accessories he’d brought with him too.

Dean wasn’t particularly hungry but he made himself a plate. His father pulled a chair up to the coffee table and dug right in. Dean and his android stayed where they were on the couch.

“So what have you found out?”

“Watch this! Kaz,” Dean said and Kaz straightened. “Relax where you are.”

The android repeated its loss of tension, like it scanned every part of its system and loosened things somehow. John blinked, nonplussed.

“Wow, okay. That’s unusual.”

“Maybe. But I’ve never seen anybody give an android an order to relax so… maybe it's _usual_ and we just haven’t seen it until now.”

John’s brows furrowed at that but he nodded and took another bite.

“I was just gonna change his name,” Dean said, tacitly asking permission.

“Go for it,” John encouraged, mouth full. Dean grinned.

“Okay, uh. Kaz, can we change your name?”

Kaz’s eyes lit up and he turned with a pleasant smile.

“Sure! What name would you like for me?”

Dean looked at his father for permission. John shrugged. “Pastor Jim made it clear this thing’s for you and not me, kiddo.”

Dean could see his father rethinking that permission so before he could take it away, Dean was going to go with “Godzilla” until another name suddenly and inexplicably popped into his head like a blinking neon sign that couldn’t be ignored. And really, Dean didn’t even want to ignore it. “Kaz, your new name’s Sam!”

John started coughing on his pizza.

“Please wait a moment. Rewriting,” Sam replied, eyes glazing over. “Confirmed. I am Sa-”

"Sam?!" John hissed, having recovered from his fit. He made it sound like it was the worst possible name Dean could’ve chosen. Dean’s stomach plummeted. He didn’t know why he was so sure about this, but he was.

“Y-yeah. What’s wrong with it?”

“How… how did you come up with that?” John swallowed and now Dean was really scared because his father’s eyes had gone soft and watery and that never happened.

"Dad, I… I just. Thought…” Dean trailed off. The truth was that he didn’t know, he just _knew_. But he couldn’t say that, so what Sams did he know? Dr. Seuss’s book ‘Sam I Am’ and how it sounded like something a robot would have fun saying-? That meshed with that famous phrase he always saw in his school classrooms and libraries: “I think therefore I am.” He'd also been doing a book report on Huckleberry Finn, where Mark Twain’s real name was Samuel Clemens. “I was thinking of Dr. Seuss. Sam I Am,” Dean said in a small voice, figuring it was the safest and most innocent explanation. His father stared at him. “I like it,” he shrugged. “I thought it’d fit him,” he added, pointing at the android seated behind him. Sam, now. Sammy.  
  
John’s jaw clenched and his eyes drifted to the floor before he just nodded with a shrug and whispered “okay.” Dean couldn’t shake the feeling he’d done something inexcusable but he had no idea what it could’ve been. He didn’t know anyone close to them whose name was Sam. Maybe when Dad was little, like before Dean was born.

“Dad, we can change it again. That’d be okay,” Dean suggested, desperate to lift his father’s spirits.

“No no no, Dean, it’s fine,” John waved, taking a deep centering breath and blowing it out. “It’s fine.”

“What is it?” Dean asked tentatively. John quirked a small sad smile and shook his head.

“Maybe when you’re older, I’ll tell you.”

Dean slumped against the back of the couch. He _was_ older.

Without feeling much better, he turned back to Sam.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered so his father wouldn’t have to hear it, then realized Sam didn’t move or look at him. “Sam?”

Sam perked up. “Yes, Dean?”

“Can we make it so you respond to ‘Sammy,’ too? It’s a nickname.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam made an imperceptible whir and nodded. “Done.”

“Awesome, okay. Um. Sammy,” he whispered again.

“Stop whispering his name, Dean, it’s fine,” John interjected, annoyed. Dean looked at his father apologetically. “I promise you, it’s fine.”

“Okay, Dad. Um, Sam. What’s up with your eyes? Can you see, like, heat signatures? Like The Predator?”

“No, Dean. My eyes have been logged in my internal archives as a unique design flaw that holds no functional significance.”

“Oh,” Dean replied lightly. “Okay.”

John smiled at Dean's easy acceptance. Dean was a relaxed child. It was a blessing, honestly. Helped them both cope with this lifestyle.

Without anyone saying his name, Sam froze again, a pleasant smile touching the edges of his lips. Dean sighed sadly.

"Sam, why do you zone out like that?" Dean asked.

“It’s called going inactive. It’s a popular battery-saving feature, Dean.”

“How long does your battery last?”

“Forty-eight hours.”

John sat up. “You can be active for forty-eight hours straight without a charge?”

“Yes, John.”

“Wow.” John leaned back in his chair. He turned to his son. “So we could use that feature for Sam during hunts, just in case we’re somewhere we can’t get to an outlet, but otherwise, you want to disable that feature?”

Dean nodded enthusiastically. “I don’t like when it happens.”

“Sam, we can disable that feature, right?”

“You can increase the length of time it takes for me to go inactive after I’ve been called.”

John shrugged. “Can I just disable it altogether?”

Sam gazed up at him, eyes lit. “Yes, John.”

John shifted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable. “Let’s do that for now, then.”

Suddenly Sam stood up as though at attention. “Warning,” boomed a man’s deep voice from the tiny robot’s mouth, “disabling the inactivity feature could result in unidentified aberrant android behavior and may disable or disrupt other system processes. Disable this feature at your own risk.”

Sam sat back down.

Dean and John looked over the tiny android’s head at each other.

“What just happened,” John laughed and the two of them fell into stitches. “Sam, disable the feature,” John finally ordered lightly, rubbing the water off his eyes.

“Yes, John.”

Instead of turning to an old creature feature on the beat-up TV like they normally did over a pizza dinner, Dean and John continued asking Sam every question they could think of as the rain and wind kept storming outside.

They were delighted when just an hour in, the little android began gesturing in tandem with his verbal responses. It was somewhat awkward, curiously with the undeveloped motor skills John would expect of a real six year old, but there was no doubt the little A.I. had already begun to learn and mimic them.

"Maybe it's these companion models. Maybe they're made to be different… like this," John theorized. Dean shook his head.

"I've seen other companion models. They’re still not like Sam."

"Yeah? Hm," John lulled into thoughtful silence, wondering if Dean was right or his building affection for the android was swaying that perception. Dean tried asking Sam to tell him a joke. Sam told a joke reminiscent of a popsicle stick pun and despite himself, John was impressed. He really hadn't seen anything like this in the dull, limp and subservient robots he’d come across in the past. And he was increasingly interested in seeing what Sam would do next around them. If he could allow himself to admit it, he was having fun.

When John announced it was bedtime, Dean couldn’t believe it was nearly midnight. He was still bouncing and breathless with more questions to ask Sammy. The best part was that Sam wasn’t glazing over anymore since they’d taken that feature away hours ago. It made all the difference: the robot’s eyes were bright and Sammy was returning the same interest and engagement as Dean. Sam was clearly a really fast-learning A.I. that needed much less effort and imagination from Dean than he’d been anticipating. As pathetic as Dean thought it might be, it dawned on him he might have actually gotten a friend today.

Dean’s father got up and Sam tracked him as he moved behind the couch and over to Dean’s bed where the charger lay. At that point, his focus whisked straight back to Dean, irises bright and speckled with blue-green and grays against amber. Dean squeezed Sam’s hand. Sam returned the affectionate gesture. They smiled at each other at the same time.

Some time later, Dean finally fell asleep in bed next to John. John sighed and fixed his pillow before rolling over to stare in wonder, much like his son earlier, at the android charging against the wall, its eyes open but clouded in full sleep mode. They pulsed a soft, warm light that John understood to be a soothing night light feature.

John stared. _Sam, huh?_

It was silly for John to have reacted like he did over the name Sam. Six years ago, the baby had been stillborn with a pool of five names he and Mary had still been considering. Mary had been so bereaved she'd asked John to just pick two without any further deliberations for the stillborn certificate. John had gone with "Adam William" but he'd felt it then and even now he knew the baby would've been named something else if he'd survived and if Mary had been with him to determine the child's nomenclature.

As for Dean, John recalled Dean knew about Mary's pregnancy, watching her get big, getting excited to be a big brother, but when she got home from the hospital with no bundle of joy in her arms, Dean moved past it and his parents encouraged that. He never knew "Sam" was one of the names they'd been considering so there was no way Dean was making a connection to the little brother who could've been.

Still, it was a little uncanny.

John went to sleep, additionally off-put when he remembered Adam William had been born in early May.

\---

May 3rd, one day later  
Syscore Headquarters  
San Francisco, CA

Weaving their way through the sub-basements of Syscore on a golf cart, Doctor Courtney Whitner was giving General Ethan Bradley of the U.S. Army the tour.

“I’m very impressed with these facilities, doctor. I always appreciate admiring where the defense budget goes instead of the U.S. military." The doctor of biomechanics didn't miss the man's sardonic tone.

"Microwaves, GPS, even the internet itself was created for military use at first, then understandably branched out to improve our everyday lives in peacetime. You know this as well as I do, General. Please don't condescend."

The general raised his eyebrows, the edges of his lips raised in a slight smile, and nodded. "Just tell me what I'm here about, Doctor."

“AndroidAU, the companion robot," she sighed. "Six years ago, we realized the model versions 5.2 in particular were learning to anticipate and react to exclusively human-generated external stimuli within a hair’s breadth of a second. Judging the behavior too risky and undesirable, we issued a recall."

"Wait wait, go back. Exclusively human-generated external stimuli?"

"The androids appeared to… defend themselves when humans were the aggressors."

The general grimaced, then spat out the side of the vehicle. "Bots'll be the next damn world war, mark my words," he muttered.

The doctor rolled her eyes. "It was simply bad programming, General, rectified in the dozens of versions that were released afterwards."

The general hummed skeptically.

"Anyway," the doctor continued, "we sent a few of these model versions to the military as per our agreement to share any new findings like this with the government, we kept a few in our storage facilities for posterity, and then we decommissioned the rest. Unfortunately even after the recall, there were still about fifty serial numbers left unaccounted for. We figured it could've been a clerical error and they were indeed successfully decommissioned. They were certainly never activated or registered."

"All right."

"Well, yesterday evening, one of those models was activated."

\---

Fin (for now ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul Slip Continues!
> 
> I'm now making this a WIP because I wanted to write more in this universe 🥰 . This chapter carries pretty fast after last chapter's events so I decided to keep things inside this story for now 👍🤗

Neither John nor Dean had ever watched an android for very long. They didn’t know how they developed or learned, what helped or what didn’t. So the next week having Sam by Dean’s side all the time was unexpected. A completely new and confusing experience for them both, frustrating and exhilarating in equal measure. John, for his part, was both entertained and fascinated observing them.

This particular afternoon it was their first full day in Lubbock, Texas after driving nonstop yesterday. John was hunched over a tome on Aztec history in the main area of their newest motel when he heard Dean in the kitchen.

“Gosh, Sam! Please get out of my way!” quickly followed by the sight of Sam tripping out of the kitchenette. John smiled kindly, pity for Sam but also pleased to hear Dean using mild language. John's gaze fixed on an apron Sam was holding. Where had the kid - robot, he corrected himself - even found an apron?

“Dean giving you a hard time, Sammy?” John asked, amused by the android’s pout. Sam had added so many facial expressions to his arsenal. Every day John was pretty sure he saw a new one. It was wondrous, really, the technology at work here. Magical, John had to admit. He joked to himself he might hunt it if he didn’t know better.

“He said he wanted to put this apron on." Sam held it up. It was a cranberry red color, yellow frills at the edges thready and ripped from so many trips through the washer.

“I did _not_!” Dean stepped into view with a spatula.

“Yes you _did_!” Sam shot back with the same irritated tone. John raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen such starkly obvious parallels between an artificial intelligence and a human child learning and mimicking. “I could even play it _back_!” and John had to bite his bottom lip from smiling.

It was only a couple days ago they’d discovered Sam kept records of everything he ‘heard’ going back twenty-four hours. It’d been a hilarious shock to them during an argument when they all heard Dean’s voice coming out of Sam’s mouth telling Sam that he could in fact look through Dean’s Classics Illustrated Knights of the Roundtable.

"I'd never say I wanted that kinda apron though, Sam."

"You didn't specify." Sam's small voice lisped when words had too many sibilants and John, damn him, thought it was pretty cute. "This will protect you for when you cook."

"It's for girls though."

Sam examined the apron, bewildered. "How do you know?"

"It's frilly," Dean pointed out. Sam shrugged, fingered the edges.

"I like it."

Instead of taking note that Sam just said it liked something, Dean turned to his father in exasperation.

“Dad, he won’t leave me alone. I’m in the _kitchen_,” he whined. John didn’t understand the importance of the kitchen but he didn’t press it. He closed the Aztec history and his journal. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You gotta phrase your words perfectly, Dean. Otherwise he won’t get it. He’ll keep trying to put an apron on you if you said you wanted it.”

“But I _didn’t_,” Dean insisted.

“Yes, you _did_!” Sam interrupted. John tilted his head to gauge Sam. The ramifications of letting the little android stay active all the time came out in these instances the most: Sam could interrupt a conversation between John and Dean. John didn’t know exactly what to think about that. He suspected most android owners would find it an unforgivable step out of line, but John never liked doormats and somehow Sam was fitting himself - _itself_ \- nicely into his and Dean’s dynamic.

Fitting itself in so well that John was pretty sure he was going to start letting his perception of Sam as a small boy pass without any mental objections soon. Pinocchio came to mind and he rolled his eyes over his thoughts before focusing back on the conversation.

Dean had been on a roll, his diatribe ending with, “Ugh! It’s like we’re Siamese twins!”

“It’s conjoined twins,” Sam corrected smugly.

John and Dean both stared at Sam. Dean let out an incoherent yell of frustration and spun on his heels back into the kitchenette. John shook his head, chuckling. He'd brew some more coffee and go back to work.

An hours' arduous work later, John took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd made a lot of progress. The most likely farm that was going to get hit by the chupacabra next was a half hour away. He wanted to set out early, meet the rancher and hopefully get his permission to find a solid stakeout sniping point on his land.

John got up and walked into the kitchen to talk about it with Dean. Sam had finagled his way back into Dean’s good graces somehow, the apron out of sight, and now sat at the small table with him while he ate a sloppy joe.

“Hey Sammy, can you put your earmuffs on?” John asked as he walked into the kitchen. Sam nodded and happily placed his hands over his ears to signal he’d turned off his audio input processor like they’d practiced.

John hadn’t fully examined his motivations to keep hunting a secret from the little robot. It didn’t feel things, it wouldn’t be burdened. After a week watching Sam follow Dean around asking questions, John thought maybe that was why he wanted it a secret: he didn't want Sam asking questions, offering help, or interrupting his plans. He needed to be focused. Sam wasn't conducive to that. Something along those lines, at any rate.

Dean wiped his mouth, moved his gaze from a blithe Sam to his rugged father, and looked up, open and relaxed.

“So I’ll probably be out all night tonight. Chupacabras are elusive. I'll probably have to sit at the stakeout for hours, won't get back till dawn, hopefully earlier.” John sighed, waiting for the thinly-veiled fear and anxiety to creep into Dean that always followed his assessments of his hunts.

No matter how he delivered a hunt's details to assuage his son's fears, it never really worked. But this time was different. This time, that desperate dread he always saw in his son didn’t come. Instead, Dean sighed and nodded. The weight of his son's familiar lonely responsibility was there, but he wasn't _scared_.

John tried to underplay his surprised delight. There was nothing more terrible than seeing his son afraid, especially when he knew the only thing Dean really feared was losing him. Dean wouldn’t even blink, wouldn’t even so much as hesitate to go on every hunt and face down every monster with his father. Leaving Dean behind always gutted Dean more than if John took him with.

The problem John had with Dean coming with him was how Dean could get literally gutted if he did. He was still much too young. But something had changed and Dean wasn’t looking at John with those eyes that begged to be taken along or for John to stay. Now it was suddenly more acceptance - a heavy acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless.

“I know, Dad. You need anything? I know we can’t come with but…”

John was already shaking his head. “No, kiddo. I got this. You and Sam gonna be okay on your own?”

Dean swallowed a bite and shrugged, nodded. "We'll be okay."

Sam's eyes were a little less dull but still cheerful. John had the unerring impression he knew what they were talking about and restraining himself from agreeing with Dean to reassure him. He cast another furtive look at Sam.

He had briefly contemplated bringing the bot along on hunts, if only as the equivalent of pack mule and strictly not to be placed in harm’s way. He’d quickly dashed the idea though. He told himself it was because it was Dean’s robot, not his, but underneath that rationale he knew it was because he wouldn’t be able to handle the sight of such a small boy on a hunt carrying his things. The optics rankled. So he didn’t overthink it and he never suggested it to either of them. Thank goodness too because this new resigned acceptance in Dean was a great development. However sad it was to admit, John couldn't help but appreciate Sam's presence for it.

John must have been staring at Sam fondly because Dean grinned and shared a conspiratorial look with Sam. Sam's eyes tracked between them, the smallest slip of a smile flickering through his expression as he dangled his feet (Dean had taught him to do that when he noticed how stiffly the small robot sat, told him it was fun and now Sam always did it). Androids couldn't disobey direct orders like shutting off their audio but John wondered again if Sam was following along some other way. Could the sneaky robot lip-read?

“This'll be the first time it'll just be you and me, Sammy. We're gonna have a sleepover!” Sam still had his hands on his ears but he perked up, eyes alight, and damn it, the kid had definitely been lip-reading.

"What do you do during sleepovers?" Sam asked excitedly, his volume higher than normal and John concluded the bot's audio input _was_ still disabled, so at least there was that. John snapped at the robot to get his attention. When Sam looked up, John tapped his ear.

"You can listen again, Sammy," John sighed.

"Okay, Dad," Sam replied.

John ruffled a hand through Sam's biosynthetic hair. Dean had decided Sam should call his father "Dad" instead of "John" after a couple days having him. At first John wasn't sure about it but it didn't take too long to get used to it and now he was edging dangerously into 'liking it' territory.

As Dean proceeded to tell Sam what sleepovers entailed, it occurred to John with a pang of regret that his son had only ever been to maybe one or two. He had the right idea though, as far as John could tell. Dean mentioned popcorn, pizza, soda. Even though Sam didn't eat, two pairs of wide and hopeful eyes fixed on him. John feigned exasperation, sighing and rubbing his eyes. Secretly he couldn't be happier. Anything to stave off Dean's haunted gaze when he'd leave him to hunt.

The boys continued to talk. While John would be gone setting Dean up with an indulgent smorgasbord, Dean would take Sam to the front desk and get the TV Guide, see what movies they could watch tonight.

"We can see what games they have too. They usually have at least Trivial Pursuit but if we're lucky there might be better games."

"Like what?" And Dean went into his favorite board games. Who knew artificial intelligences could be this inquiring? And who knew Dean was so talkative? But Sam's curiosity fit him and it worked for them. Especially when John saw Dean, how patient and ready he was to provide the android’s questions with answers, to guide him as the nascent A.I. it was. It was kind of a new side to Dean that John hadn't seen before and it warmed his heart.

John listed out of the kitchen. If Sam's curiosity got around to hunting, John hoped he could dodge it, that Sam would just ask Dean about things... and that Dean would be able to answer in a way that satisfied Sam's curiosity. In the meantime, he'd go get Dean's food. 

John lucked out on a quick trip, finding a mom 'n pop grocery store with Dean's requests. He added an energy drink and some jerky for himself. When he got back the kids were still in the kitchen chatting, Sam's legs swinging with a calm but precise rhythm under the table. Everything got squared away in the fridge or on the counters. It was time for John to go then, so he packed up his weapons duffel (always thanking Dean for cleaning them well, trying to impart manners in as weird a way as possible), reminded Dean to check the salt lines and wards before bed, shrugged his jacket on, and pulled his keys from his pocket.

He stopped halfway out the door and turned back to look at his son… and Sam standing right beside Dean reaching his hand out to be held and Dean unconsciously accepting it.

“Take care ‘a Sammy, Dean,” he advised, interested to know how Dean would take it. His son stood up straighter, gave a confident grin, and nodded.

“Yeah, Dad.”

John smiled back, returned the nod, and closed the door behind him. He had all night to think about how androids were typically purchased to take care of one or more family members or households and how instead their little family seemed to prefer taking care of _it_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the next chapter next Sunday, I think (lots of sweet cuddles during the sleepover coming up 😊). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. If you can spare the time please leave a kudos or comment (even a single happy emoji as a comment grants me a lovely spark of happiness!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam have their sleep over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late but double the word count of last chapter 😅 
> 
> Happy readings 🤗💛

Pizza was awesome. So was soda and popcorn. After the initial excitement of Dad coming home with it all though, the shine of novelty dulled because then he left and Sam couldn't eat; Dean couldn't share. For all that Sam was meant to offer companionship as a bot, he couldn't partake in one of the most social activities humans engaged in: meals.

Dean resolved it would still be an awesome sleep over. He told Sam and Sam grinned and said, "okay, Dean."

Earlier at the motel office where they kept the TV Guide, they'd discovered Alien was going to air on TV in about twenty minutes and Dean had always meant to watch it. He was excited to see a new movie with Sam. He flipped to channel 12 and muted it. Then he went over to his duffel for his pajamas. He gave Sam a double take when he saw the android hadn't moved. He was just standing there watching him with a solicitous air. The hands at his sides would deliberately shake themselves out a bit. Sam tended to do this when he didn't have a clear order to carry out. Dad had told Dean his theory that Sam was learning how to exist in times where ordinarily he'd be get triggered to go into inactive mode. Dean was a lot more patient about it after that but Sam's troubled face still made him want to give him something to do.

"It's a sleep over, Sammy. Get in your pajamas, c'mon."

Just like that Sam snapped out of it with an easy smile and went over to his own duffel of clothes John had bought him. He settled on a pair of light blue footies with puppy paw prints all over it. He stepped into the legs carefully and zipped it all the way up his small frame.

“Okay, I’m ready.” He padded over to Dean, who smiled and tousled Sam’s hair. He'd changed into a pair of sweats with tattered cuffs and a nice cotton t-shirt.

"Nice going, Sammy. Settle in, I wanna check the wards and stuff 'cause we've still got a few minutes to go until the movie starts." He spoke as he worked, judiciously tipping their bag of salt to refresh the lines without wasting any.

"Okay," Sam replied simply, sitting himself down on the bed. This motel didn't have a sofa, just a kitchenette and the main room with two doubles and a decent-sized TV. There was a luggage rack by the outlet farthest from the room's door and next to Dean's bed where Sam would sit at night to charge.

Dean watched Sam place himself on the bed, his spine ramrod straight against the headboard, legs just as rigid.

"Sam, when I say 'settle in', I always mean I want you to relax your body against the bed... or the couch," Dean remembered to add, "okay?"

Sam turned to him. "Oh." He looked up and to the left, something his eyes did when he was programming new definitions or parameters. Dean and John had become very familiar with it. "Okay."

The past week had been all about specifying language and expectations. Sam was noticeably, perturbingly programmed to _serve_ much more than he was programmed to feel like a real companion and it bothered Dean. He could tell it bothered John too when it surfaced. 

It was things like how Sam never took anything to mean "relax" except "at ease" like he was a soldier. John had discovered that order when he'd been distracted and blurted it at the sight of Sam's formal posture. It surprised them both when it worked, and neither of them liked it. Another thing they didn't like was how Sam offered to do too many things solo. Dean didn't want him making him lunch for him, he wanted to make lunch together. Same with laundry or cleaning or any number of things. Sam's eyes always widened and glowed a little brighter when he said that. Dean inwardly believed it meant Sam was happy.

Now that Dean had just redefined "settle in" for Sam, the bot climbed in and rustled around, exploring by touch, his eyes glowing with a subvocal hum. He messed the blankets up, his feet getting tangled in them as he used them to feel around too.

Dean was using their stack of sharpies to trace over the wards their father had drawn up that morning. The sight of Sam had him stopping short though.

“This is your first time in a bed.” It wasn’t a question. Dean and John had always set Sam up on the luggage rack, propped against the wall near the outlet to charge. They hadn’t thought to put him in a bed. 

Sam looked up, eyes wide and glowing, analyzing Dean's cues and expectations. Or something else - Dean couldn’t tell, but he was processing something. Finally, Sam shrugged.

“Sammy, can you… feel? Is it nice? The bed, I mean,” Dean queried lightly, faking nonchalance even though he didn’t really know why. Not fully understanding how important the question was.

Sam tilted his head at Dean, then looked down to smooth the blankets with his hand. He looked up, the slightest hint of disappointment in his eyes. “I’m a robot. I can’t tell. It’s a new experience to process and log for me,” he answered, the slightest lisp in his voice sounding so organic despite the technical wording. 

Dean swallowed and nodded. "Okay." He went back to the wards, deep in thought. 

"Why didn't Dad want me to know he hunted supernatural creatures?" 

Dean turned around, eyes wide to find the bot just as relaxed as he was before. He just sat there in bed, clad in those blue footie pajamas, his head with just the slightest tilt. 

Dean tried to get over the dissonance of a sweet curious child and the cold emotionless robot he knew it was. The latter perception made him really wonder though. How could people not see the humanity in their humanoid AIs like he could?

"Dean?" Sam prompted. Dean sighed and came over to him.

"I really don't know, Sammy."

"I could help him on his hunts."

"I feel that way too. I think eventually he'll let us."

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded. "You do know that if he ever takes you anywhere for a hunt, I'm coming too."

Sam's tone seemed so certain that Dean felt a kneejerk urge to refute him. "Well I mean, not if we tell you to stay."

"Negative."

"Huh?"

Sam opened his mouth to explain his programming, his authorization to disobey any or all orders that may be issued to him by anyone if they have a high likelihood of endangering his companion. Sam had determined that hunts without his presence would qualify.

He was about to say all that but then he stopped. Instead, he simply said, "If you go, I go."

Dean huffed a laugh and shrugged. "Okay." He got up and went over to finish the wards. Sam flipped the channel to Aliens and the 20th Century Fox logo was began to play.

"It's starting Dean!" Sam called excitedly.

"YES!" Dean threw the pizza box onto the foot of the bed and jumped in next to Sam. He laid out on his stomach facing the TV and Sam mimicked him.

The two of them watched, riveted. 

Dean found himself taking it easy on the pizza and popcorn, not digging in quite as voraciously as he would if his father were there to join him. 

When they got to the part of the movie where the android, Ash the science officer, betrayed the crew, Dean bit his lip and looked over. Sam's eyes were glued to the screen. He looked anxious and sad. Dean waited for the commercials and then pressed mute.

"You okay? I know you'd never betray me like that guy, Sam."

Sam turned, startled. "Yes I would."

"What?"

"If my programming said I had to pretend, I had to bring back an alien artifact or lifeform, the rest of the crew expendable, I would do that, Dean."

"Can't you override? Overwrite it?"

Sam made a face. "Why would I want to?"

"Because! Don't you think Ripley's cool?"

"Really cool, yes," Sam confirmed. 

"Right. So, you wouldn't let her die."

"Well." Sam squinted. "I'd do my best to keep her alive while still carrying out my prerogatives." Sam's lisp stumbled over the last word and Dean marveled at how human it seemed.

Dean leaned back and scratched his jaw. "Yeah, you know, Ash's orders had only been to get the alien and bring it back. He didn't have to let the guy out into the cafeteria. He doomed the rest of the crew."

"Yeah. Expendable means 'of little significance' which means they are still significant in some way, so I'd try to keep them alive!"

Sam was grinning, happy he'd come up with a better plan than the movie's android. Dean was nodding in agreement, pleased with it too. 

"I like that. That's smart. If you were with Ripley I bet you'd turn out to be the hero."

"No way, she would still be the hero. Because I'd still follow those secret orders and breach quarantine protocol to bring an alien monster that kills humans on board."

"Yeah, that sucks," Dean agreedly lightly. He ate more popcorn. These commercials were lasting forever. 

After a minute or two a thought came to him. He turned to Sam and asked playfully, "So how do I know you're not a secret android programmed to feed me to a ghoul when we go on our first hunt with Dad?"

Sam turned, alarmed. "I don't know. I wouldn't even know myself until I was triggered to betray."

Dean sat up straight. "Really?" 

Sam nodded anxiously. "You could... Oh!" Sam snapped, instantly happy again. "You could call Syscorp! Get all my make and models' histories. If every bot in my line has proven to be trustworthy and responsible, then you could use that as a probability that I won't."

Dean was just about to assure Sam that he wasn't really serious, that he rested easy already because there was no precedence for companion bots betraying their personal companions at all, but then the commercials ended.

The movie resumed. Ash had all its robot guts out with white milky blood. Dean glanced at Sam. "You look like that on the inside?"

Sam shook his head. "My blood's a gray blue color, I think."

"You don't know?"

Sam shrugged.

They watched the android explain its mission in full. Sam was cringing through most of it.

"What?" Dean whispered, nudging the little bot. 

"We don't think in terms of perfection or purity like that. Those are human ideas. Zero and one might be as close as we get to understanding what 'perfection' might mean but... when I hear humans saying things are perfect, I know it's not the same."

Dean nodded. Not wanting to keep talking for fear of missing more of the movie, he just reached for Sam's hand and squeezed. Sam looked over. Dean smiled. Sam looked relieved. He turned his hand so he could squeeze Dean's too.

At the next commercial break, Dean realized he hadn't been thinking or worrying about his father as much. How could he with so much food for thought surrounding Sam and how androids perceived things, how they thought. It was fascinating. 

When it went to commercial next he put the TV on mute again and sat up, crossing his legs, angling himself towards Sam.

"So you didn't get what Ash was saying? What about people having moral delusions?"

"I didn't understand that either, no. The android was just admiring a particularly hostile animal to me and I don't know why a robot would admire that."

"Maybe it was programmed to admire survivors? Ash said it was a survivor species too."

"Yeah. Maybe," Sam bit his lip. "Maybe I'm too young."

"For an android?"

"Yeah. I haven't met any other androids. Maybe I'll understand better after I've met some other ones."

Dean looked at Sam uncertainly. "I'm not sure that's gonna happen anytime soon, Sammy."

Sam tilted his head. "Why not?"

"We treat you differently than most people treat their bots. Many of them just stay inside homes twenty-four seven."

"Oh and you don't have a home to keep me in like that."

"No!" Dean shouted. Sam blinked, mildly taken aback. "No, nothing like that! Even if we lived in a house I wouldn't make you stay in it all the time, Sammy. I-I wouldn't do that," Dean's voice shook with emotion and he didn't know why.

"It'd be fine, I'd just-"

"No just, stop. We treat you like a real friend! We don't _keep_ you anywhere, we take you out with us, and since other people don't do that with their androids, you probably won't meet another bot for awhile." Dean was huffing by the end of this speech.

Sam seemed to be processing it.

Finally he just said, "Okay, Dean."

Dean swallowed and nodded. "Okay."

He unmuted the commercials and let them fill the silence in the room until Alien came back on.

Dean relaxed when Sam hesitantly moved his hand on top of his. Dean sighed and gave Sam a brief smile to let him know he wasn't mad anymore. Together they reinvested themselves into the movie. Dean whooped when Ripley undressed which, from out of the corner of his eye he could see elicited a curious look from Sam. And when the Alien unfolded its body from the pipes, Dean took the opportunity to flip out, grab Sam and get the bot giggling in his lap, shaking him and tickling him as he watched, yelling to Ripley to "look over there! It's right there! Ahhhh!"

When it ended, Dean turned the TV off at the credits. He sighed and sat up, happy, and Sam was beaming too. Their tense earlier conversations hadn't brought them down too much. Dean was grateful for that as he put all his leftovers away. Sam helped by tidying up around where they'd been watching the movie. 

It was time for bed and Dean remembered back to the Knights of the Roundtable comics and why he'd been upset at Sam for having taken them.

"Hey Sammy?" Sam got up from the floor where he'd been picking up pieces of popcorn Dean had let fall by accident. "Oh sorry, I'll help," Dean offered and came over.

"I think this is it, though." Sam showed Dean a small amount and walked over to the small wastebasket to drop them. 

"Cool, okay. Anyway, um," Dean paused. “You know how I said I didn’t want you to read the Knights of the Round Table?”

The little robot squared his stance. “No," he replied firmly. "You said-”

“I know. I know what I said. I want you to see it, I do. I'm not taking that back. But I was upset because I wanted you - I wanted to look at it together."

“Oh." Sam blinked. "I understand now." His eyes lit up. “I didn’t finish it, Dean. We could look at it together now."

Dean broke into a grin. “Really?” 

“Yeah!”

“Okay!” Dean jumped up, enthusiasm ignited all over again. “Grab it and get back into bed - I’ve just got a few things I have to do before I’m ready,” Dean said, heading into the bathroom. 

"Okay, Dean." Sam went for Dean's duffel and found the comic, then hopped back into bed as Dean went to brush his teeth. Sam was under the covers examining the cover of the Classics Illustrated when Dean spoke up from the bathroom.

"You know, when school starts, it'll be cool for you to know this story.”

“Why?"

Dean turned and leaned against the door jamb of the bathroom. He pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth and did his best to keep the toothpaste froth inside.

"Because teachers might ask you about it and stuff."

Sam's eyebrows raised higher than Dean had ever seen before, eyes wide as discs. 

"_I'm_ going to attend school?"

"Yeah! You look like kindergarten."

"But I'm a robot."

Dean shrugged. "We fake all sorts of things. Getting you enrolled in school will give you something to do even if you don't need it and you end up getting straight As all the time, you big nerd," Dean snickered.

"I'm obligated to inform you the inactive mode was a feature meant specifically for instances like these."

"Nah, I'd love it if you came to school with me. We can say hi to each other in the halls. I’ll talk to Dad about it."

Sam squinted, analyzing Dean’s face for expectations and even though Dean knew it was all math, all advanced technology doing it, he let himself believe when Sam responded with a hesitantly excited, "Okay. I’d like that,” 

Dean grinned. He finished up in the bathroom and slid under the covers with Sam, only to let out a groan of discomfort.

“What is it?” Sam asked. 

“The covers are really scratchy and stuff,” Dean complained as he vaulted right back out. “Get up for a sec, Sammy,” he asked as he brought his mom’s quilt over again. It was a lot softer, and it'd go between them and the cheap scratchy sheet. Sam got out and hovered. Dean glanced at him as he went to work making it feel nice - pulling all the covers off so he could lay the quilt down first - and Sam had taken a step or two forward, interest and curiosity in his eyes and posture. 

"This is what I always do when we get nasty bedsheets." 

Sam nodded. "I... woke up... in this." He touched the quilt. 

"What? Oh yeah," Dean smiled. "C'mon, get in," he beckoned, slipping under the sheets. Sam crawled back in with a shy giggle. He started to mirror Dean's position, sitting up against the headboard next to him, until Dean decided he was so little, he could just drag him over so he was sitting between Dean’s legs and leaning against Dean’s chest. Sam just laughed sweetly as he settled in, kept the Classics Illustrated book protected from Dean’s handling of him. As soon as they were settled, Dean asked for the book and they started in earnest - Dean reading to Sam and Sam listening to Dean. Sam learned more about Dean every day and now they weren't distracted watching a movie, now that Dean was reading to him for the first time ever, Sam could assess Dean’s reading level and comprehension. It was above average but with great potential to improve further. Sam's education module was there but Dean hadn’t asked for a tutor. So Sam made an executive decision as he looked up at the boy diligently reading aloud to him with fascinating tones, doing special voices for different characters. He'd ask Dean to do this more often. Because that would help Dean read. It didn't have to do with the peculiar sensation he felt as he watched Dean, as he listened.

A few pages in, Dean shifted and huffed. 

“You’re kinda cold, Sammy,” he murmured, trying to bundle the blankets over them more.

"Oh, I can generate more heat," Sam offered. He reached his hand out for Dean to test. Dean tilted his head and touched the tiny hand with toasty-warm skin. 

"Whoa that's so cool!” Dean gently gripped Sam’s hand tighter. “You can do your whole body?” He asked and Sam nodded. Dean thought about it for a second. “Wait, it doesn't overload your system?" He knew how the Impala could overheat.

"Well, I sort of do it by overloading my system but it doesn't cause anything very bad to happen. And I can monitor your temperature and make sure it doesn't go up too high," Sam explained.

“Okay.” Dean hefted Sam higher up against him. “Let’s do it.” Sam squirmed and chuckled.

Sam's body whirred and the temperature upped steadily. Dean soaked in the warmth. Sam was still and quiet.

"This is awesome," Dean breathed. 

Sam’s programming would normally have him offer a vocal reply, something confirming he was pleased to hear Dean appreciated the warming feature. Instead Sam looked up at Dean and smiled. Dean shook the Comics Illustrated out in front of them and Sam looked back down, leaning his head against Dean’s chest.

There was a medieval classroom in a castle depicted in the illustration at some point and Dean paused, looking at it.

“You know, when you come to school with me, I don’t think we should tell them you’re an android.”

“That’s against the law,” Sam replied evenly. Dean snorted.

“Screw the law. We’ll say we’re brothers.”

“But Dean-”

“No, I’ve made up my mind. Override any program of yours that’s saying you can’t lie about that, okay?” Dean requested and Sam, heat overloaded enough now to commit some slight malfunctions, still attempted to perform Dean’s task. If he overwrote a few more settings than necessary, he didn’t notice it. 

“Done,” Sam confirmed. Dean squeezed him. 

“Good,” Dean chirped. He resumed reading, Sam relaxed and molded warm against him. Eventually Dean yawned several times as he tried to get through a sentence.

“Sam, I think I’m getting tired. You wanna sleep?” 

Sam opened his mouth to correct him that he didn't sleep, but dismissed it.

“Sure." Sam went along pliantly as Dean rolled him over to the side of the bed closest to the wall. 

“Can you plug yourself in from there?” Dean asked, pushing Sam around until he was towards the edge. It shocked Dean still how lightweight the little robot was. When robots and androids were in movies, with some exceptions like Alien, they were heavy and strong and scary. Sam was the opposite of all of those things as he struggled and kicked his pajamas-covered feet for leverage to reach his power cord. Dean wasn’t one to get mushy but Sammy was... even as the robot peeled back a tiny flap of skin behind his ear to reveal a charging port, he was cute. 

Dean watched the little robot focus on its task of plugging itself in. Dean didn't see any blue-gray blood but he supposed charging ports were meant to be opened so of course Sammy wouldn't bleed.

Sam jerked and sighed when the port connected, leaned back into bed. There was something comforting about it. Something easy and soft that Sam seemed to enjoy charging. Dean liked to sleep too.

He leaned back and realized he didn’t want Sam to get out of bed and lie on the floor.

“You’re staying, right? In bed?” He asked hesitantly, suddenly scared of rejection from a robot. Maybe he’d lost his mind.

“Yeah,” Sam pitched, rolling over so he could face Dean on his side like Dean was doing. The wire attached to the port behind his ear followed him but it wasn’t interfering too much. Dean smiled at his robot then turned the light off. He turned, and startled at Sam’s eyes.

“Sam-” Dean clipped himself off, jerking away in bed but at the sight of Sam’s alarm and confusion, relaxed. “Your eyes, Sam!” 

“What about them?” Sam asked urgently, looking around and blinking and Dean nearly laughed over the reaction.

“Stop, it’s okay. If it doesn’t hurt, it’s okay.” Dean reassured, leaning forward. Sam mumbled something about being a robot and unable to feel hurt as Dean inspected them. “They glow!” Fascinated, Dean leaned even closer. “So, you don’t just have a ton of colors in your eyes. They also glow? Dude that’s so awesome!” 

“I have a night light function."

Dean laughed, and delicately touched around Sam's orbs of light. "It's really cool," he whispered.

Sam pressed his lips together and smiled, his dimples appearing. “Thanks," he whispered back.

Dean chuckled and tousled Sam's hair. He moved around and got more comfortable… and eventually pulled Sam in against him because he was still warm and Dean was getting cold and this was infinitely better than any sleepover Dean had ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please kudos or comment if you can spare the time (even just a happy emoji thrills me! 😊)

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://fogsrollingin.tumblr.com). Feel free to stop by and say hi, I'd love more friends! 💛


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